Write Your Own Script

by A. L. Brooks

  “Too bloody right! If I ever come across the little shit at an event, I’ll be sure to spike his drink with a big dose of laxative. Sounds like he needs a good cleansing. Mind you, I would have loved to have seen him wearing that orange juice!” She laughed. “Shame there weren’t any pictures.”

  “Oh, I’m quite happy about that. Definitely not the sort of publicity I’m seeking.”

  “Hmm, I suppose so,” Lesley mused. “But us women have got to stick together against these twats. Maybe if it had become public it might make a few people sit up and take notice.”

  The thought made Tamsyn shudder, and a sneaky little doubt about Lesley’s secret-keeping ability made an unwitting appearance in her mind. There was something in Lesley’s tone, something that made Tamsyn very nervous. “You will keep this to yourself, won’t you?”

  Lesley gasped. “Of course! Oh, Tamsyn, I would never do that to you.”

  There was a strange emphasis on the final word that Tamsyn couldn’t quite understand, but before she could consider a response, Lesley changed the subject.

  “So, can I tell you my news now?”

  “Of course.” Tamsyn chuckled at Lesley’s eagerness.

  “Well, remember that LGBT activist group I told you about, SHOUT, the one that contacted me and asked if I’d be willing to be the very public face of their new campaigns?”

  Tamsyn only vaguely remembered, but she made a sound that suggested it was a more solid memory.

  “Well, I’ve met with them a few times, and Tamsyn, honestly, they are such an amazing bunch of people! So focused, so driven, and so ambitious about what they want to achieve. They all said some lovely things about me, and vented freely about how awful it was that my career was affected so much by my coming out. I did try to tell them it wasn’t entirely that, as you and I both know—let’s face it, I was never in your league, was I?” She laughed, but there was an edge to it that told Tamsyn she’d never quite got past her unspoken jealousy. It was a wonder their friendship had survived, but she supposed that’s because they went through so much together in the first ten years; that foundation was hard to break. Before she could respond in some mollifying way, Lesley continued. “Anyway, they’ve asked me to a top-secret meeting next week with another group that’s visiting from America. They’re working on something big, and they want me to be the spokesperson for it.”

  “Wow! That sounds great.” Tamsyn hoped she was expressing the correct level of enthusiasm; Lesley’s love of LGBT politics had always made her uncomfortable. By closeting herself, she felt she had no right to have an opinion on what should or shouldn’t be done in the LGBT community and its interactions with the non-LGBT world. But Lesley’s impassioned speeches about human rights and respect and equality always struck a nerve, and made Tamsyn feel as if, by living her lie, she was somehow turning her back on other men and women who didn’t conform to society’s view of what ‘normal’ should be. And that made her feel all sorts of things she really wasn’t ready to face up to yet—if ever.

  “It really is. I feel, whatever it is, I’ll be able to really make a difference. Put a famous face in front of a cause and you up the value of that cause. I’ll be so proud to be able to do this for the community.”

  There it was again: the community. The one Tamsyn played no part in, even though she did anonymously donate to many of the campaigns Lesley told her about. Her guilt money, she always called it.

  “Well,” she said, mustering herself, knowing her own issues needed to be set aside right now to support her friend, “I am thrilled for you. I know how much this all means to you, and being such a key part of it will be perfect for you.”

  “It really will. Thank you, Tamsyn. I know sometimes this stuff makes you a tad uncomfortable.”

  She supposed she should have realised Lesley would have picked up on that—you couldn’t be friends for over thirty years and not become adept at reading each other.

  She sighed. “Sometimes, yes. But that won’t stop me supporting you as best I can.”

  “And I really appreciate that. So, how is Norfolk? Probably deadly dull, yes?”

  Tamsyn nearly laughed out loud. Hardly dull… But something in her held back from telling Lesley about Maggie. Mainly because she was scared to talk about it out loud, and about how it was affecting her.

  “It’s beautiful, actually. I’m going for long walks, and reading lots, and generally trying to stay as mellow as I can.”

  “When do you have to go back?”

  “Carmen was able to get me two weeks’ grace, so not long, not really.” Her stomach flopped at the thought. “I know I have to face up to it when I get back, but at the same time I’m hoping we can all just move on. I love this film, even if I don’t love its director, so I just need to find a way to deal with him—or, at least, not let him get to me.”

  “It annoys me intensely that you’re the one having to do the soul-searching. I bet they haven’t told that asshole to take even five minutes to think about his behaviour.”

  “You’re probably right,” Tamsyn agreed ruefully. “But hey, let’s not talk about that anymore. What else are you up to?”

  They chatted on for a few more minutes, arranging to meet for dinner once Tamsyn had finished filming Great Plains, and said their goodbyes.

  When Tamsyn slumped back onto the sofa, depositing the phone beside her, her mind was whirling. Lately, everything Lesley shared about her work in the LGBT activist community gave rise to a confusion and discomfort in Tamsyn that followed her like a dark cloud for days afterwards. She didn’t want that here in Norfolk; she had enough to deal with as it was.

  She finished her lukewarm coffee and set the empty mug back on the table. It was another gorgeous day and suddenly fresh air sounded like a really good idea. Maybe in amongst the trees she could free her mind up to focus on this hiccup in her career, and what to do about it.

  In next to no time she was pulling on her jacket, wrapping a thin scarf around her neck, and slipping into her ankle boots. As expected, after a few dry days, the track was easy to walk on and she could wander without having to look out for puddles and boggy patches. This allowed her to spend some time gazing up into the trees, catching brief, flitting movements from the birds up in the higher branches, all while her lungs pulled in the rich, scented air.

  Carmen’s email came back to her, and with it, the recollection of why she was really here. The insult from Don Speed, taken in isolation and in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t actually that offensive. Well, no more offensive than plenty of other insults she read in the gossip rags, or the sniping she had to put up with from Melinda on an almost daily basis. She’d demanded a personal apology, but it seemed that would never materialise. The studio had apologised, later that day, but not Don. That stuck in her craw, definitely, but what really troubled her was the nugget of truth in his insulting words, and what that meant for the rest of her career.

  She lifted her shoulders and sighed, stepping carefully over a fallen log and briefly admiring the array of fungi that had taken up residence in its decrepit bark.

  At fifty-two, she was now in that ‘dead zone’ for actresses. Considered too old to play the love interest, but too young to start taking the sorts of roles reserved for the likes of Judi Dench, Helen Mirren, and Maggie Smith. It was unfair, and she wasn’t the only one complaining about it, but nothing in the industry seemed to be changing. She despaired at some of the scripts that came her way now; she seemed doomed to play the mothers of the new bright young things, or variations of her role from Blue Lights. As much as she’d loved playing that part, she’d walked away after five series for a reason: not to get typecast. And yet, that seemed to be what was happening to her anyway. It was why what had occurred on the Great Plains set was even more galling—for once she’d been given a role that was out of the norm with a story that genuinely excited her. She’d be an idiot not to g
o back, but it would rankle daily to be working with that…dick.

  Carmen was right: if Tamsyn walked away from this film now, the damage to her reputation would be immense, and she really would be left in the dead zone. As much as it galled her, deep down she knew she only had one choice. And yes, Lesley was right too—having to be the one who went crawling back knowing that he hadn’t been censured at all was utterly unfair. But that was the way the business worked, and she for one wasn’t brave enough to stick her head above the parapet and challenge it. A knot of something gripped her stomach at the acknowledgement; she wished she was braver, sometimes, but old habits, she’d found, died very hard.

  A blackbird whizzed across the path in front of her, squawking loudly, and she jumped. She gazed around; she’d walked for ages without any awareness of her surroundings, and just now realised just how far she’d come. Oh well, the walk was doing her good, so she may as well keep going. If she remembered correctly, there was a side path that led to the far side of the paddock, and she could cut back across there to the cottage. Her mood brightened as she remembered she also had a dinner date later. Her body warmed at the thought. Yes, that could be just what she needed to shake away the gloom of her afternoon musings.

  Good food, good wine, good—make that great—sex. Perfect. In denial much? a nagging little voice asked at the back of her mind, but she shook it off as she strode down the trail.

  Chapter 12

  Gizmo’s tongue was hanging out, his breath expelling in little pants.

  “You tired, Giz?” Maggie asked, roughing the top of his head.

  He barked but didn’t jump, a clear sign that he’d run his legs off. She wasn’t surprised; for every yard she walked, he ran about ten, back and forth, side to side, always on the move.

  “Okay, let’s go home.” She clipped him back onto the lead and headed back down the path. There was a side track not too far up ahead that cut across the paddock near Tamsyn’s cottage. It had been fun, walking from the opposite direction she normally took; it gave the woods a whole different look, somehow. While it had taken longer, and it wasn’t only Gizmo’s legs that were feeling it, she’d loved not only the exercise but also the story-planning time it had granted her. She’d scribbled quite a few ideas down in her Moleskine, which was now tucked safely back in her coat pocket.

  Gizmo barked again, and Maggie looked ahead to see what had captured his attention; she couldn’t help the little leap of her heart when she saw Tamsyn about twenty yards ahead, leaning nonchalantly against a large tree, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets. She smiled, and Maggie’s heart leaped again.

  With Gizmo straining at his lead, Maggie half-walked, half-trotted after him, chuckling at his eagerness, a feeling she could well understand. She let him go once they reached Tamsyn, and he jumped up a few times until Tamsyn deigned to bend and look down at him, keeping her hands tucked in her pockets but telling Gizmo what a good boy he was until he spun in circles on the spot, the picture of joy.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Tamsyn said when she stood upright again, her voice low and husky, which sent a delicious spike of arousal throbbing between Maggie’s legs.

  “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns…” Maggie laughed as Tamsyn rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, it’s a classic!”

  “I suppose so.” Tamsyn leaned forward and kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss that only served to stoke the fire between her legs.

  Maggie shuddered, and when Tamsyn pulled back, her expression quizzical, Maggie grinned even as she blushed.

  “Ah,” was all Tamsyn said, before pulling her hands out of her pockets and wrapping her arms around Maggie, tugging her close and kissing her again. This kiss wasn’t soft; it was Tamsyn crushing her lips to Maggie’s, her tongue thrusting deep into Maggie’s mouth and stroking forcefully. It was fire and lust and hunger all personified in the meeting of wet mouths and hands grabbing for purchase on coats and jeans.

  “Maggie…” Tamsyn breathed as their mouths parted for a moment.

  “Yes?”

  But Tamsyn didn’t answer with words; instead, she turned them around, pinning Maggie’s back against the tree, her hands reaching for the zip on Maggie’s jacket. Maggie stared into her eyes, wondering just what the hell Tamsyn had in mind but knowing whatever it was, she’d agree to it. She couldn’t not. Everything about Tamsyn consumed her with an irresistible intensity.

  Tamsyn pushed the jacket open and immediately bent to kiss and lick at Maggie’s neck even as her hands began working the zipper on Maggie’s jeans. Moments later Tamsyn’s warm fingers inched their way inside Maggie’s silken underwear and slipped through the copious wetness between her legs.

  “Jesus…” Maggie arched into Tamsyn, needing more, and Tamsyn went with her, pushing first one, then two fingers inside her and thrusting as well as she could within the confines of the jeans. It was enough given the extra thrill Maggie got from doing this out in the open. Sure, it was a private estate, but that didn’t mean this was totally risk-free. At any moment, any of the people who worked for Mrs French could step onto this portion of the track, and the thought of that set free an exhibitionist side that Maggie hadn’t known she possessed. Tamsyn’s palm was pressed against Maggie’s clit as she continued to work her fingers in and out of Maggie in short but fulfilling thrusts, and the secondary rhythm was delicious in a whole different way.

  Tamsyn kissed her again, softer this time, a tenderness in her lips that belied the raw passion lower down between their bodies. The contrast was compelling, and exciting, and Maggie was so close, faster than she would have imagined, but it all added up to a maelstrom of sensation that was pulling her in, taking her under. She came hard, bright lights spinning across the inside of her eyelids, a low, keening sound escaping her throat as she fought hard not to cry out loud. Tamsyn held her, fingers locked inside her, until her breathing returned to near normal and a small chuckle from Maggie broke the silence between them.

  “Wow. Can’t say that I’ve ever done that before,” she whispered, opening her eyes and staring into the depths of Tamsyn’s.

  “Me neither.” Tamsyn pulled back slightly to stare intently at her. “Was that okay? I mean, I didn’t stop to ask, I just—”

  Maggie shushed her, then kissed her. “Trust me, it was more than okay. Although, I must confess, I’m a little surprised.” She tilted her head. “That was rather public from a famous actress who wants to keep her lesbian side hidden.”

  Tamsyn blinked, and swallowed. “Yes,” she said, carefully extracting her fingers, and kissing Maggie with a lingering tenderness once she had done so. “I think you are bad for me,” she said, smirking, but Maggie saw something flit across her eyes, and wondered what it was. Tamsyn stepped back and slowly wiped her fingers on a tissue she pulled from her pocket. “Do you think he’ll be traumatised?” she asked, gesturing to Gizmo, who lay on the ground a couple of feet away, head on his paws, brown eyes gazing up at them.

  Maggie snorted. “That’s not the first time he’s witnessed Sapphic love in all its glory, trust me.”

  “Oh, really?” Tamsyn waggled her eyebrows and the tension that had marred her features a few moments before was gone. “Do tell.”

  Laughing, Maggie adjusted her underwear and zipped up her jeans. She was still throbbing, a dull beat somewhere in the background, and it wasn’t unpleasant—it simply made her hungry for more, but perhaps with a soft bed or sofa at her back instead of a gnarled tree. She stepped away from it, rubbing at a couple of sore spots that she hadn’t noticed so much while in the throes of passion.

  “Oh, sorry!” Tamsyn moved closer, wrapping her arms around Maggie inside her jacket and rubbing slow circles on her back with her hands. “Are you sore?”

  Maggie breathed in Tamsyn’s scent as she kissed her neck. “I’ll live,” she murmured. “And it was very much worth it.”

  “I’m pleased,” Tamsyn s
aid against her hair. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

  Maggie tried to pull back to look at her, but Tamsyn clung on, and continued speaking to Maggie’s head. “The sight of you, looking so content, so carefree, and with those jeans hugging your thighs the way they do… And when I kissed you, and you were obviously already so turned on, suddenly all I wanted to do was touch you. To feel your energy, to share it. To… I don’t know, to just connect with you in the most intimate way I could imagine. There wasn’t even a conscious thought to it, it was just… I needed…” She fell silent, her breath warm against Maggie’s scalp.

  Maggie swallowed. What was Tamsyn trying to say? They were supposed to be just having sex, weren’t they? Feelings and emotions weren’t supposed to come into it. But Tamsyn sounded awfully emotional, and Maggie didn’t know what to do with that.

  Tamsyn gave her a squeeze then stepped back, dropping her arms. Her gaze was anywhere but on Maggie, and there was a faint blush to her cheeks. “Sorry, don’t know what all that was about,” she said, shrugging and grinning half-heartedly. “So, still on for dinner at six?”

  Maggie had to blink a couple of times to allow her brain to catch up with the change in Tamsyn’s demeanour and direction. “Um, sure. Yes.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.” And with that, Tamsyn turned and walked quickly towards the side path, her strides long, her arms swinging.

  Maggie wanted to call her back, yet at the same time wondered what she would say if she did. Hey, I know you’re closeted and not looking for anything more than a fling but you’re confusing the shit out of me with your words and actions and…

  And what? What did Maggie want or, alternatively, what did she think she could ask for? What she was starting to want she knew was impossible, and asking for anything less would only lead to heartache, of that she was sure.